


I Think This is the Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

by excessiveprepositionalphrases



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff, Gen, I'm not sure what to tag this one as tbh, Medical, Other, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Wish Fulfillment, all aboard the self indulgence train, but that's everything I write isn't it, can't imagine what inspired me to write THAT, for me and some other people with very specific issues, like big time fluffy, mentions of food and food related anxiety, mostly just Julian comforting someone with a fear of doctors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28050771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excessiveprepositionalphrases/pseuds/excessiveprepositionalphrases
Summary: I've written a whole lot of stuff with space me and Julian, so I felt like it was time to see exactly how they got this way.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Original Character(s)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 13
Collections: Deep Space Discord Literary Universe





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one's for you, Hylian.

The station was beautiful, at least in my opinion. Cardassian architecture mixed with federation aesthetics like a very confused interior design disaster, and I _loved it._ It was wrong and hideous and ugly in every way I held dear. And better yet, it felt like a challenge. I could already see, I walked along the promenade, that the place would be filled with technological messes, computerized knots waiting to be untangled. I was already jittery at the idea. All those Cardassian and Federation systems, patched and pasted together. There were going to be computer problems here, and I was overwhelmingly excited to face them down. Settling in was easy, and orientation was simple and enjoyable – familiarize yourself with the station and your commanding officers, learn to navigate, get your first orders. All easy work. This certainly wasn’t the case with every assignment, and I was very grateful for the semi-vacation. There was a line, though, at the bottom of the list, that I was dutifully ignoring.

_“Initial physical.”_

As I checked off the items on the list above, I found myself trying not to allow my eyes to drift that far down on the page. After all, if I didn’t see it, it wasn’t there.

The strategy started to falter as the list grew shorter. It got harder to ignore the threatening words as they were a member of a list of fewer and fewer items. Eventually it _was_ the last item.

I was lying in bed, miles away from anything resembling sleep. This was the most ridiculous thing about me. Most of my quirks were easy to explain away or avoid, but there was no hiding this one. The problem with being afraid of doctors was that there was no way around them. It was inevitable that you would have to interact with them eventually. There was no special dispensation that allowed one to avoid all doctors.

“Computer, time,” I mumbled.

_“The time is 0400 hours.”_

I rolled over onto my back and pressed my fingers into the inside of my wrist. Unfortunately my body’s response to anxiety was to make me nauseous, and throwing up in the middle of the night was not my idea of a good time. The wrist pressure mostly worked, but it didn’t quiet the panic. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried my best to regulate my breathing. Basic physical, I repeated to myself. Not sick, not dying, not injured. Not surgery. Nothing to fear. Absolutely nothing to fear. That didn’t make me feel better, though, only more ridiculous. If I willed my body to untense, maybe I could relax enough to get at least an hour or two of sleep.

_Slow your breathing._

_Think of warm things. Safe things. Space. The concept of the void. Sleeping on a transport._

_Slow your heart rate. You are in your own bed. You have a new life. New job. So many computers to fix._

I could feel myself fading, just a little. Sleep, maybe? I felt sleep on the horizon. I did my best to give in, to let it overtake me. Sleep.

I jolted awake again. My memory of the last few moments was hazy. I silently prayed that maybe I had gotten a few good minutes of REM.

“Computer, time.”

_“The time is 0415 hours.”_

So much for that.

“Computer, what’s the earliest I can visit the infirmary?”

_“The infirmary is open for emergencies twenty-six hours a day. Normal operating hours are from 0800 to 2400 hours.”_

“Computer, please set an alarm for 0745 hours.”

_“Alarm set.”_

Now. Back to sleep.

Well, “sleep.”

Sadly, the alarm didn’t come quickly. It came very, very slowly indeed. By the time it went off at 7:45, it felt as if I had been lying there, heart pounding, for years. I had my uniform on, teeth brushed and out the door as quickly as I could. The faster I got down to the infirmary, the faster I could get this over with. The station seemed unreasonably cold, but it was probably just the fear.

The infirmary was roughly what I had expected – grey, cold, and brightly lit. It was mostly quiet and empty, and there was a blonde woman in a purple uniform that I assumed denoted her as a nurse puttering around. She picked up on my presence before I could say anything, and smiled at me, but there was a cold, distant quality to it. She seemed to be a little closed off, like she was there, but not _really_ there.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” she said, polite, but maybe not quite friendly.

“Good morning,” I answered, trying my best to seem calm and collected. “I’ve just transferred here, and I think I have to have a physical, as part of the transfer process? Unless I need some kind of appointment, then I’ll come back, I –”

The nurse held up a hand, calmly stopping my ramble. “You don’t need an appointment,” she said, still cool, but reassuring. “This will be just fine.”

“Thank god. My name is –”

“Savannah, I know.”

“…how on earth did you know that?”

“You were our only transfer this week.”

“That’d do it.”

“Any symptoms, any indications of illness?”

“Nope, I’m perfectly fine,” I assured her. “I’m just here because I was told to be.”

“As you should be. Have a seat on the biobed over there. The doctor will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you,” I answered. I was not thankful.

I uncomfortably climbed up onto the nearby biobed – it really seemed more like a cross between an examination table and a dentist’s chair, which didn’t make it any more comfortable. The nurse had already taken a few steps away from me, presumably in order to find the doctor. I felt slightly ill at the idea of opening my mouth, but I had only a second to make up my mind.

“Can I ask you a question?”

She turned to face me again.

“What’s the doctor like?”

“Like? I’m not sure I understand.”

“What kind of doctor are they?”

“…a Starfleet one?”

“No, I mean…what are they like, as a person?”

“Oh! Compassionate is the first word that comes to mind. Kind, friendly. He can be a bit talkative, so if you don’t like talking to people, you might struggle with him a bit.”

“I certainly don’t have any problem with talking to people.”

“Then you’ll get along just fine.”

My stomach felt like it was tied in knots. The anxiety was bad enough, but the embarrassment that came with admitting it was so much worse. If I could have looked someone in the eyes and told them I was afraid it really would have helped, but the very idea made me feel nauseated.

“Good Morning!”

The voice was bright and cheerful. I met the eyes of the tall man who was approaching me. He was thin, almost gangly, with long limbs and an upright posture that gave him an odd, sweeping gait. His hair was brown and fluffy, and he was about 15 years younger than I had expected him to be. Chief Medical Officers tended to average 40 or 45 years old – the man in front of me couldn’t have been older than 30. He was smiling at me, a broad, friendly smile that brought out crinkles in the corners of his eyes. He was handsome. That somehow didn’t help.

“I’m Dr. Julian Bashir,” he continued, still smiling broadly. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Savannah,” I answered. “I just started, I’m the new computer girl.”

“Come to make all the systems play nice with each other?” he asked.

“That’s a pretty accurate description.”

“Any chance you could start with mine? I can’t get any of the computers in this infirmary to work properly. I’ve been squeaking by with my own portable equipment, but it’s less like running a permanent infirmary and more like a field hospital. I’m got to have a way to interface my diagnostic equipment with the Cardassian systems if I’m going to make a working infirmary out of this place.”

“I’ll put you on my list,” I said, doing my best to smile back at him.

He read a few lines off the PADD in his hands. “Any complaints?” he asked, still looking the screen.

“No, I’m completely fine. I wouldn’t even be here, but they told me that everyone arriving to this station had to report to the infirmary for an exam before they could take their posts.”

“I’m hoping to establish accurate health baselines for the entire crew,” he explained. “This station has a rather checkered history. It was built to be occupied by Bajorans and Cardassians. For all I know, the walls themselves could be toxic to humans. I want to keep an eye on the health of everyone on the station, just for these first few months, so I can be sure no one is experiencing any unexplainable adverse effects that would suggest that we need to re-examine the safety of the station.”

“Makes sense to me,” I said uncomfortably.

He produced a tricorder from his pocket and scanned me, almost passively, watching the screen but clearly more interested in having a conversation. “So where did you come from?” he asked. I winced as the tiny red lights passed through my field of vison. It was such a simple thing, as painless as anything could be, and yet I wondered how he could possibly act like I should be able to hold a conversation at the same time.

“Science outpost,” I explained, trying to keep the shaking out of my voice. “They needed a computer expert, I don’t like people very much. It was the kind of post a lot of officers avoid but I really enjoyed it. I miss it already, actually.”

The last comment was enough to get him to look up from his tricorder. “I’m sure you’ll feel right at home here before long,” he said.

“Hopefully.”

He lifted another instrument and reached out to me, gently steading my chin with the back of his hand as he focused the scope in his other hand on my left eye. It was somewhat harder to hide that you were shaking from someone who was touching you. He slowly lowered the scope and furrowed his brows a bit as he looked at my face.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine, why?”

“Your pulse and respiration are elevated, and your eyes are about the size of that wormhole outside. I can feel you shaking.”

I hesitated.

“Are you afraid of someone?” he asked, his tone shifting immediately to concern. “Are you in some kind of trouble? If you’re in danger, you can tell me, or one of the nurses– anything you say to us is confidential. We can protect you if you need to hide from something.”

I stifled a laugh. “Me? Hiding from someone? I think I lead a much less interesting life than you think, Doctor.”

“Maybe,” he said. “If you aren’t in danger, what is it that you’re so afraid of?”

I tried to formulate a response, but it took entirely too long. The doctor’s expression shifted again.

“Are you afraid of doctors?” he asked, in the approximate tone one would use with a baby deer.

“A bit, yeah,” I answered. Something about this experience in particular had a way of making me start crying for no real reason, and I could tell that was where I was headed – and there was nothing I could do about it. “I know it’s kind of unfounded and you’re really just meant to be here to help…I don’t even have a good excuse. I don’t have any specific bad memories, I don’t have a particular trauma that made me this way, I just…I’m sorry.” The last few words were said through tears.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he responded. I laughed.

“I am sort of having a breakdown on your biobed, so…”

“You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last,” he said softly. “Stay there, alright? I’ll be right back.”

I nodded. As uncomfortable as his presence made me, or at least as I had thought it had made me, the room seemed colder and more frightening somehow when he was gone. It was impossible to think about anything other than my own embarrassment in the cool silence. I was actively making a massive fool of myself, ensuring I would never be taken seriously, and probably slightly insulting this otherwise very nice man in the process. He really was very nice, with a kind face and a softness in his voice. He seemed like he was probably a lovely person, and I felt quite guilty for just breaking down on him like this.

All those feelings together meant that when he returned a few moments later, I was full on weeping. I could feel the snot running unattractively down my lip. I had been quietly dreading his return, but for some reason, when he appeared again, I felt a bit better. He had a box of tissues in his hand – apparently what he’d gone to retrieve – and the light smile on his face fell when he saw me.

“I thought you might want these, but it looks like you need them even more than I thought!”

“Thank you,” I sniffled, taking the tissues from him. I wiped my face down and blew my nose, but it only did so much good when I was still actively crying. My new frenemy’s demeanor shifted a little; where he seemed to be trying to cheer me up or maybe even get me to laugh, he settled into something soft and caring, and serious, apparently realizing that making me laugh was a no go.

“I know I’m probably the last person in the world you want to open up to, but I want to help you. Will you talk to me?”

"I think I need to."

“What’s the thing that’s upsetting you the most, right now? Is it just too overwhelming, or is there something in particular? Something I can change, even.”

I hesitated. The fear was bad enough, the embarrassment was bad enough, they were bad enough together. The feeling that I was trapped in a nightmare of social faux pas was another level I didn’t need.

“I just feel so terrible,” I said. “You’re so nice. And I’m kind of being a jerk.”

“How are you being a jerk? For being uncomfortable around me? You have a fear of doctors. I know that’s not personal. And even if it was, even if it was me specifically you were afraid of, that’s not you doing something wrong. That tells me that _I_ need to do something differently, because apparently something about me is frightening to people. I promise you, you haven’t hurt my feelings – nothing of the sort.”

“I know that’s the reasonable thing but I just…and I feel like I can’t ever recover from this.”

He settled back against the wall like someone preparing for a hard conversation. I noticed that he seemed to be deliberately keeping his distance from me. “What do you mean you can’t ever recover?”

“Like, this is your image of me now. This is everyone’s image of me now. No one’s ever going to take me seriously or believe that I can be strong or brave or capable because some cute doctor tried to give me an eye exam and I started crying.”

“I’m not judging you,” he said softly. “I’m never going to judge you. That’s not what I’m here for. To judge people would be opposite of everything my job is meant to stand for. I _understand_. I have a rather unpleasant history with doctors, myself – trust me. I spent most of my childhood just as scared of them as you are of me right now. More, even. I understand exactly what you’re feeling right now. I’m not going to think any less of you. And no one else will, either. This is a crew of very understanding people. But that doesn’t really matter, because I have no intention of telling them. The details of this appointment are strictly confidential. Not only that, but there are special protections accorded to medical records that are considered sensitive. Normally it’s reserved for diseases that have cultural stigmas attached to them, other things of that nature. But it’s up to the doctor what does and doesn’t qualify as sensitive, and I think this whole conversation qualifies. I’m going put a single line note in your file that you’re uncomfortable with medical treatment, so I can make accommodations for you in the future. But the only person who will ever see that information is me. The only people on this station who will ever know this happened are me, and you, and anyone you choose to tell.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. He frowned a little when he realized I was still crying, and took a leap of bravery to get close to me again. He held his hands out to me.

“Take my hands.”

I nervously lifted my hands and he wrapped them in his, squeezing them tightly. “It’s alright,” he emphasized, shaking my hands a bit. “You haven’t embarrassed yourself. You haven’t hurt my feelings. And you certainly haven’t given me a bad opinion of you. I _promise._ Also, you don’t need to call me Doctor, if you don’t want to. I’m just Julian.”

“Thank you, Julian…you still need to examine me, don’t you?”

“I do. But I want to see if I can make you a bit more comfortable with that idea first.”

“Tall order,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been comfortable around a doctor in my life.”

“So far, am I like any other doctor you’ve ever met?”

“Not at all.”

"Well?"

I had to shrug and admit he was right.

“I can’t magically make you not scared, but I think there are a number of things I can tell you right now that’ll bring you some comfort. I’m not going to hurt you. That’s the cliché doctor line, isn’t it? But I promise you, right now, that nothing I’m going to do to you – none of the exams I’m going to put you through – are going to be painful or uncomfortable. And yes, I would tell you if they were. I’m not a fan of lying – if I tell you that what I’m about to do isn’t going to hurt and it does, you don’t really have a reason to trust me the next time I say that, do you?”

“No,” I agreed.

“Exactly. If I have to do something to you that I expect to be uncomfortable, I promise to warn you beforehand. It’s not perfect, but maybe taking some of the uncertainty out will make you feel a little safer.”

“It does, actually.”

“I need to examine you eventually, but there’s no reason that has to be right now. You can take a couple hours, even a couple of days if you want, and come back later.”

“I think that would just give me more time to be anxious about it.”

“Do you just want to get it over with?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, it’s _so_ kind of you to offer to let me leave, but I think it would be better to just get this over with.”

“That’s perfectly alright. Would it help if I tell you what I’m going to do?”

“…yes.”

“It’s only a couple of steps. I already have preliminary tricorder readings, but since I suspect your vitals will be a bit different now than they were before, I’d like to take them again. I’ll also stop and take your pulse manually – I prefer doing it that way; the tricorder’s not wrong exactly but I can tell more with my hands. Then I’m going to examine your eyes, ears, and throat. Normally, I’d take some more detailed tricorder readings and call that it, but I want to run a detailed cerebral scan on you as well, which just involves pressing a very scary looking scanner to your head. 10 minutes at most, and then you can go.”

“That sounds survivable,” I said.

Julian took his tricorder readings again, as promised. He handed me the device, and pointed at the screen. “Your heart rate is about half what it was,” he explained. I didn’t have an answer for that. I felt a bit like I was a participant in a very silly battle, and I was _losing._ Every time he batted his eyelashes at me, which he seemed to do a lot, almost without knowing, he got a little closer to _making_ me like him.

“I’m going to go ahead and run those more detailed scans while I already have this out,” he said, passively. It was oddly…nice, to just sit there and let him scan me. I could feel my chest opening up a bit, as if at least some of the weight was lifted. He put down his tricorder and held out his right hand, like a cautious offering.

“I’m going to take your pulse now, if that’s alright.”

“Sure.” I offered him my wrist. He chuckled a bit and shook his head. “Look up.”

I looked at him anxiously. “It’s easier to take a pulse at the neck,” he explained. I must have looked more anxious than I realized, because he seemed to reconsider. “If that’s too overwhelming, I won’t do it. I don’t have to. I have tricorder readings. But I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”

If I was staying here, he was going to have to touch me eventually. This probably was the least intimidating way to try and get used to that. “No. Do it,” I said quietly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Okay. Chin up.”

I tilted my head up towards the ceiling. I knew it was coming, but I still jumped a bit when he pressed his fingers into my neck.

“You’re alright,” he soothed. “Deep, slow breaths, alright? Focus on your breath.”

I tried, but it was difficult to focus on anything other than his hand on my neck. Not exactly in a bad way, either – his hands were…kind of nice, and there was something almost grounding about the gentle pressure of his fingers against my neck. 30 seconds felt like an eternity.

“Are you alright?” he asked, cautiously, as he finished counting.

“Actually, I am,” I answered.

“See?”

“I’m starting to.”

The rest of the exam consisted entirely of the previously aborted eye exam, which ended up being a completely painless experience, and lots of assorted scans. By the end I was genuinely enjoying Julian’s company, and I felt something that resembled disappointment when he announced he was finished.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“It really wasn’t. You’re a miracle worker.”

“Just a good doctor,” he deflected. “You are free to return to duty. I want you back in 3 months – so I can compare readings.”

“I may actually look forward to it!”

I had already jumped off the bed and was halfway to the door when he spoke.

“You do know you called me cute a minute ago.”

I stopped and rubbed my face with my hands. “Did I?”

“It was in the middle of another thought. I wasn’t sure you even knew you’d said it.”

“I didn’t. I definitely didn’t.”

“I don’t remember the last time someone told me I was cute.”

“Well you wouldn’t fault me for telling the truth,” I answered quickly, and booked it out the door and down the promenade as fast as my little legs would carry me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHAT THIS IS GONNA BE 2 CHAPTERS it wasn't meant to be this long but it's so much damn fun to write


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this chapter contains discussions of food and food-related anxiety. Eating disorders are *not* discussed and the main character does not suffer from one, but do be aware if food and food related anxiety is a triggering topic for you.

He was stuck in my head. Why was he stuck in my head?

I had, as the saying went, been asleep since then, but even as I stood in the main engineering lab while the chief engineer doled out assignments, my mind kept wandering to the doctor. Little things kept reminding me of him, and I was wishing for an excuse to talk to him again. It would probably be weird and awkward and distant, but it would have been nice to just say hello.

“Savannah?” The chief snapped me out of my strange, doctor-related daydreams.

“Yes, Chief?”

“They tell me you’re one of the best computer techs available. Now’s your chance to prove it. There’s a subprocessor going bad in the air handling systems in upper pylon 2. It’s a tedious job. Think you’re up to the task of replacing it?”

“Yes, sir!”

* * *

I had never met the officer who was sitting next to me in the Jeffries Tube. He’d been assigned, apparently against his will, as my navigator for the day. He had blonde curls and dark eyes, and he was young, maybe younger than me, but he seemed determined not to let his age stand in the way of his being as cynical and unpleasant as possible. I was detaching a panel from the wall to access some faulty components, and he was complaining.

“I get the worst assignments.”

“I don’t know, I think I can think of many worse assignments. All you’ve got to do here is sit there and do nothing while _I_ fix the problem.”

“They never let me do anything _interesting_. It’s always shit like this.”

“Sorry to be such an inconvenience to you, I guess?”

“It’s not your fault anyway. Sorry.”

“I won’t hold it against you.”

The subprocessor was fried – blackened, crusty, disintegrating, _fried._ I carefully removed it, detaching the tiny wires one at a time.

“That’s like doing surgery,” my grumpy companion said.

“I suppose it is!”

“At least you’re easier to be around than that surgeon.”

My ears pricked up. “What surgeon?”

“You know, the doctor,” he said. “He had some kind of antique sounding name. ‘Arthur’ or ‘Fredrick’ or –”

“Julian.”

“Yeah, that was it.”

“I don’t know, I met him yesterday and he seemed _very_ easy to be around.”

“He’s a nice guy I guess, but he’s on the annoying side of friendly.”

“How long have you been on the station?” I asked him.

“3 weeks.”

“That’s not much time to decide if someone’s aggravating.”

“Once was enough. I went to fix a console one day and he wouldn’t shut up about _‘gravitational properties of wormhole proximity’_ and how _‘this sector contains quantum vibrations’_ that were _‘affecting his research.’_ It was excruciating. Any time we get work orders from the infirmary I make myself as scare as possible.”

“He didn’t mention any of that to me. But I’m not sure he had time; he was too busy trying to get me to stop crying.”

“Why on earth were you crying?”

“Long story,” I said, snapping the new subprocessor into place. Talking to Julian again had just skipped all the way to the top of my priority list. If my grumpy companion’s complaints were accurate, this doctor was about to be the most interesting person I’d met in years. I flicked the power switch on a nearby block and watched the conduit glow immediately with activity, tiny green, red, and blue flashes indicating the system was working again.

“Nice job,” my companion grumbled, almost begrudgingly.

“I sort of know what I’m doing,” I answered back.

* * *

I dropped my PADD full of notes on the Chief’s desk triumphantly. He picked it up and read it before he would meet my face, but when he did, it was with a hearty smile.

“Good job, kid! Looks like you’ll be very useful around here.”

“I certainly hope so! Where am I needed next?”

“For once I don’t have any emergencies,” the Chief said, motioning to the panel on the wall. “All the standing problem reports are up there. Take your pick.”

I scrolled down the list of maintenance and repair requests on the wall. With nothing marked as urgent and no real experience with the station, there was nothing to differentiate one request from another. I was considering picking a request at random when I scrolled right past the solution to my problem.

“Is anyone handling any of these requests to repair the computers in the infirmary?”

“They weren’t considered emergencies. We’ve been so swamped we didn’t have a chance.”

“I think I’ll take them, if that’s okay.”

“Do you know anything about repairing medical equipment?”

“No, but does anyone else?”

“You’ve got me there,” the chief said. “They’re all yours if you want them.”

“I absolutely do,” I said.

* * *

The infirmary felt a little less frightening the second time, but only a little. This time it seemed to be empty. There was no sign of the nurse from before, or of anyone.

“Anyone home?” I called.

“Just a moment!”

Julian was exactly the same as he had been the day before. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it was still comforting somehow to see that he was just how I remembered him.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again,” he said.

I held up my toolcase. “Not a patient today! You mentioned that you were having issues with the computers?”

“That’s an understatement.”

“That’s why I’m here!”

“Wonderful! You can start with that console over there. It won’t come on at all.”

I nodded and settled myself in front of the black screen. For some reason, I had been expecting him to go back to whatever he had been doing, but instead he hovered over the console eagerly, watching me poke at it. Something about his energy made me feel all warm inside.

“So what do you think is wrong with it?” he asked, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. “Preliminarily? I know you need more time, but, if you have a theory, I mean. I would have tried to fix it myself but I didn’t know where to begin. I’ve never really understood computers, at least…not…really. I’m sorry. I think I’m rambling again.”

He was even more endearing this way, a little sparkle in his green eyes.

“No! You’re fine! Ramble all you want. I don’t know yet. I’m probably going to have to get under it to find out. It’s not even giving me a beep code so I have nothing to go on yet. It’s probably the memory or the main board, if I had to guess. Those are the most common causes of things not coming on at all.”

I crawled under the console and rolled over onto my back.

“Can I ask you a random question?”

“Sure.”

“What are you researching? I was talking to another officer and he mentioned something about quantum vibrations and the wormhole.”

“Uh – well – there’s a theory that cells and microscopic entities can be affected by subatomic phenomena. It’s not exactly well received by the wider medical community, but preliminary tests on certain types of cell replication are giving me vastly different results in this environment than they were in my old lab. I’ve controlled every variable. The proximity of the wormhole is one of the only variables left. I know it sounds impossible, but I’ve got a hunch, and I’ve learned it’s best to follow them.”

“That’s so _cool_ , though,” I said.

“…I think so, but it’s rare that anyone agrees with me.”

I yanked the panel off the underside of the console with a loud crack. “They always sound like you’re breaking them,” I explained. “But you’re not, they just make awful noises. Do me a favor and try to boot this up again?”

I watched the components of the system as Julian attempted to power it up. From where I was I could see the cooling units trying to power on, but stopping almost immediately.

“It’s gotta be the memory,” I thought aloud, and unsnapped a memory unit from the underside of the device. The contacts had started to corrode after years of no maintenance, and they were coated in a thin layer of greenish nastiness. I sat up and demonstratively held out the damaged component to Julian. “It’s not supposed to be green,” I said with a laugh. “Do you have – this is a stupid question to ask a doctor – do you have some alcohol around?”

“I’m sure I do.”

What he ended up bringing me was not just a container of alcohol but a small plastic basket of cotton pads and swabs, a damp cloth, and gloves.

“That’s basically computer surgery you’re doing.” he said. “I figured some basic tools might be helpful.”

“Absolutely! Thank you! I didn’t even think about asking you for the rest of it, but I guess you would have all this on hand.”

“Doctor? We need your signature on this.” The nurse from the day before had reappeared. I wondered where she had been hiding the whole time.

“I’ll be close by if you need anything else, alright?” Julian said, smiling at me.

“Thanks.”

I folded myself back up under the console and set about my task of cleaning the computer parts. It was oddly cozy under the console, cool and dark. I felt like some kind of small animal in a burrow. There was that warmth again. It was nice, too, to have gloves on for once. Not covering my hands in corrosion felt like living in luxury.

I snapped the freshly cleaned parts into their slots, unfolded myself from under the console, hit the power button, and prayed. I never knew whether these things were going to work or not, even when I felt sure I had fixed them. I cheered as the console flickered to life.

“That sounds like a cheer of triumph!” Julian said from behind me.

“It was indeed the memory. Hopefully it doesn’t have another part horribly broken but if it dies again, I guess we’ll find out,” I said.

“If it dies again, I will know exactly who to call.”

He grinned at me and I giggled like a loon. There was no hiding it. “What’s next?” I asked, doing my best to keep it together.

“There’s a panel in the wall that turns a different color every time you turn it on.”

“Lead the way.”

I tapped on the screen of the panel. It flickered and buzzed and flashed red and green, and generally made a series of noises a wall console should not make.

“Can I tell you something?” I asked, using the damaged panel as an excuse not to make eye contact.

“Of course.”

“I only took this work order because I wanted an excuse to talk to you again.”

“Did you really think I couldn’t tell that immediately?”

I was glad I was facing the wall and he couldn’t see the neon pink blush that had settled over my entire face.

“You didn’t need an excuse, you know,” he continued. “You could have just come and said hi.”

“That would have been too weird.”

“Why?”

“That would be…making it a little too clear that I just wanted to talk to you.”

“As opposed to what you actually did, which had me completely fooled and didn’t seem like an excuse to talk to me in any way.”

“I can’t believe I’m telling you these things. I’ve known you for two days and I’m already just laying out everything I’m thinking.”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked.

“I’m usually not this – come on, come out of there – not this open,” I said, pulling the offending screen off the wall. I finally turned to face him. I hoped my face wasn’t still bright pink. The self satisfied look on his face told me it probably was. At least he was nice enough not to point it out. The panel in my hand sparked, exactly on cue. I wondered how it was possible for an electronic component to have comedic timing.

“I think this one’s broken beyond repair. I need to look more closely at it but in my experience, things that spark are usually not fixable. I’ll see if I can find the original replicator patterns for this component and hopefully just replicate a new one.”

“I figured as much.”

I tucked the broken screen under my arm. “I’ll let you know as soon I have any news.”

“Oh, take your time. It’s not a particularly important screen.”

“That’s good to know.”

“If you feel the need to say hello before I break something else, just stop by, alright? No excuses needed.”

“I’ll try.”

* * *

Knowing I had a standing invitation didn’t actually make me less anxious about the idea of openly stopping just to talk to him. He even _knew,_ now. I’d already admitted plainly that I just wanted to talk to him, and he’d already given me clear, undeniable permission to do so. But it still felt _wrong._ Surely I needed some kind of excuse. For the next few days I caught myself wondering how easy it would be to twist my ankle, but only a little. I was still weighing the weirdness of being forward against the questionable motivations of deliberately hurting myself when the universe – or more accurately, the commander, did my work for me. I was elbows deep in a console when my PADD beeped. I caught the “from” address out of the corner of my eye and stopped what I was doing to read the details. _“From: Commander Sisko. Subject: Senior Staff Dinner.”_ I speed read the body of the email. I only had to catch a few words to know exactly what I was reading: _new, senior staff, recent transfers, commander’s quarters, invited, 2100._ The concept of a dinner party with the entire senior staff hit me right in the space between ecstatic joy and crippling anxiety. _Did it have to be a dinner party, Commander,_ I mumbled aloud as I worked.

I trotted past the infirmary on my way back to my quarters after my shift, and quietly prayed my actual question would be enough justification not to seem weird. _You don’t even need a justification,_ my anxiety’s anxiety reminded me. I did my best to shut them both up.

“You coming to dinner?” I called, as nonchalantly as I could. Julian smiled at me.

“Where have you been?”

“Working,” I said. “All the time, pretty much. Anyway, are you coming to dinner?”

He gave me a suspicious look, but didn’t press the issue. “Of course! When commander Sisko invites you to dinner, there’s no good way to turn him down.”

“What’s the dress code at these things? Is the uniform okay or do I need to like, dress up?”

“Uniforms are fine! I’m not changing.”

“Good. See you in a bit.”

He opened his mouth to add another thought, but I bolted before he got the chance.

Since I ended up looking the same it felt like a pointless exercise, but I showered and put on a clean uniform anyway. If I was turning up for dinner with the commander, I figured it was worth not smelling like lightly burnt computer components. My brain never once slowed as I got ready. _Maybe you’ll have an excuse to talk to Julian. Maybe you can even sit next to him at dinner. What would you even talk about? What are you even going to eat? Oh god, what are you going to eat._

Why was this the one thing it was still socially acceptable to be rude and intrusive about? We had a broad cultural agreement that it was rude to comment on someone’s appearance, accent, likes and dislikes – but for some reason, what people were or weren’t eating was somehow fair game. _Is that all you’re going to eat?_ got old fast. It was harder still to explain my reasons – and to overcome the bizarre shame of simply being _picky._ “Dinner party” was one of my least favorite combinations of words in the world. If it hadn’t been for Julian, I would have invented a creative excuse.

I was relieved, at least, that the so called dinner party was more of a roving, snacking event. At least if we weren’t all sitting around a table, I had a higher chance of flying under the radar with a plate full of bread, fruit, raw vegetables, and dessert. The entire senior staff had shown up, and they were all milling about and talking to each other. I was immediately reminded that I didn’t actually know anyone other than Julian and the Chief and a couple of the other computer technicians, all of whom seemed deeply involved in conversations with people they already knew. I nervously surveyed the table full of food instead. I felt my heart sink. I wasn’t even sure what half of it was, and the list of things I was comfortable eating was even shorter than usual. Commander Sisko was clearly an excellent and adventurous cook, but the pickings were slim for someone with the approximate taste of a toddler. I awkwardly obtained a plate, praying no one was paying attention to me, and dotted it with the few things on the table that looked edible – a couple of rolls, some moba fruit, and a couple pieces of halofish sushi. I hoped the sushi would be off the wall enough to push back the quiet judgment of someone with absolutely no adventure in their tastebuds. I shuffled myself and my deeply embarrassing, and very sparse, plate over to the nearest small gathering of people I passively recognized.

“Diplomacy was never my subject, but with these people it’s almost impossible,” an officer in a red uniform was saying. “I never liked doing admin work, but it’s so much worse when everyone hates each other.”

“You think you have it bad? I have to arrange quarters for them. They don’t even breathe oxygen!” the other officer complained.

I faded back out of the conversation. It was abundantly clear I had nothing to add here. Julian was easy to spot, a head taller than anyone else in the room. I subtly slid up to the group of people he was talking to, and waited for a chance to break into the conversation. Whatever they were talking about was way over my head – something about the Bajoran economy. Upon closer inspection, it seemed like it was a step or two above Julian head as well. From a distance I had assumed this was a multi-person conversation, but from inside the conversational circle it was much clearer that there were two officers talking about Bajoran finances, and Julian hovering next to them looking just as awkward as I did. He smiled broadly at me when he caught my eyes, and seized the next pause in the conversation to introduce me to the other two officers.

“Ah, there she is! Allow me to introduce Savannah. She’s been fixing the many computer problems we’ve had in the infirmary. Savannah, this is Lieutenant Eccleston and Lieutenant Romo.”

I nodded awkwardly at them.

“It’s got to be a difficult task, working on computers around here,” Eccleston said. “All those competing systems.”

“It’s a challenge. The code languages really don’t cooperate a lot of the time. The Cardassians don’t even use base 10, so even the basic numeric functions have to go through abstraction programs.”

“At least you’re the right size to fit under the consoles,” Romo added, not particularly kindly. Julian looked minorly horrified. Eccleston sized me up like a lion considering a meal.

“Is that all you’re planning on eating?” he asked. My heart tightened. This had to be a speed record for someone firing off an unpleasant comment.

“Not particularly hungry,” I flat out lied. Eccleston seemed content with that, but I was still starting to feel slightly nauseous. Julian made a face, and quickly pulled the attention of the other two officers.

“Have you met Jadzia yet?” he asked. “Lieutenant Dax is the life of any party.” The other officers shook their heads.

“I think it’s time we fix that,” Julian said, and deftly pulled them away. I took myself and my depression sushi over to the nearest sofa. Julian was next to me a minute later, and sat down on the coffee table as if it were a seat.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“I’ve never met most of the people here. I was only just beginning to realize those two weren’t particularly pleasant, but they certainly sped up that conclusion.”

“Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than open your mouth and remove all doubt, right?” I said.

“Something like that,” he agreed. I took a slow bite of my bread. Julian leaned in.

“I know we’ve only known each other for a couple days, but we’ve already established you’re willing to be honest with me. Are you really not hungry?”

“Honestly? I’m starving.”

“Why don’t you get something you’d like out of the replicator? That is what it’s there for, after all.”

“When the commander has put all this effort into cooking this gorgeous spread? Not in a million years. Everyone’s already judging me enough for this.” I held up my plate demonstratively.

Julian thought for a moment. “Does anything sound appetizing?” he asked.

“I just want a ham & cheese sandwich,” I said quietly.

“Stay there, alright?”

I just stared at him as he unfolded himself from the coffee table, approached the replicator with complete confidence, pressed a couple of buttons on it, removed the incredibly simple sandwich on a plate it had created, and retook his not-a-seat on the coffee table. He extended the plate to me. I was speechless.

“Swap the food, but keep the plate, he said, pointing out the difference in my plate from the buffet table and the one from the replicator. “If the plates are the same no one will notice.” I nodded and quickly traded my rather pathetic combination of food choices for the sandwich, which I happily bit into. Julian traded plates with me and surreptitiously sent the failed plate back into the replicator. I was already preparing my mouth-full thank you to him when he got pulled into some kind of conversation with the commander. I filed it away for later. I was fairly certain nothing in my life had ever tasted better than that sandwich.

With my stomach actually full it was much easier to face down conversation, and I managed a couple of not-entirely-awkward interactions with a few of the other officers. As soon as I spotted Julian sufficiently alone on one end of a sofa, I snagged my chance, and sat down next to him.

“I can’t thank you enough for what you did.”

“I couldn’t just let you go hungry,” he said. The affection in his voice seemed genuine.

“How did you know what was wrong, though?” I asked. “Most people assume I’m on a diet or something.”

He shook his head. “Not with the combination of things you had. You clearly made your choices based on nothing but taste. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was going on from there.”

“It’s one of my greatest embarrassments. I’m an adult – or at least they tell me I am. I’m good at a lot of things, but I still have the tastebuds of a toddler.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about. Everyone’s into something different. Taste in food is one of the most varied things among every species.”

“You’re not wrong, but it doesn’t take the edge off the comments.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been fighting with this my whole life. I can’t tell you how complicated the emotion was when I read the words _‘dinner party.’_ I only came because you were going to be here.”

“You kind of gave that away earlier when you stopped by just to ask if I was coming,” he said with a smile.

“Sorry. I try to be so chill but I always end up wearing my heart on my sleeve a bit.”

“If this happens again at an event we’re both at, try to corner me and let me know, okay? I’ll make sure you’ve got something to eat.”

“You don’t have to take care of me like that, you know.”

“I know. I’m fully aware I don’t have to. But I want to. It’s how I…face the world, you know? I take care of people.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” I said softly.

Jadzia appeared and settled on the facing sofa, grabbing Julian’s attention with a question about some sort of cell or other. That was perfectly fine with me. I was happy to just sit there. The warmth that rose in my stomach was beginning to become familiar. I examined the feeling, turning it over in my mind. I was fairly certain it was… _safety._ I allowed myself to inch slightly closer to Julian. _What even are you,_ I wondered. It wasn’t like it actually mattered. All that mattered was that I’d somehow been given the opportunity to get to know this person. I settled back into the sofa and closed my eyes, happy just to soak in the feeling. “Warm safety” was a sensation my anxiety, and my anxiety’s anxiety, kept me from being particularly familiar with, and I had every intention of enjoying it for all it was worth.

* * *

My pillow shifted under my cheek. I grumbled slightly and repositioned myself.

“Sorry,” my pillow whispered. My eyes snapped open. I slowly processed that the thing I had my cheek against was a man’s shoulder. I didn’t have to see that the fabric under my cheek was a deep teal blue to guess who’s shoulder it was. My first instinct was to sit up with a start. For some reason, the secondary voice in my head told me to fight that instinct.

“You’re fine,” Julian said softly. “You can go back to sleep.”

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to – oh my god”

Julian tightened the arm I was only just realizing was wrapped around me. “You’re fine,” he repeated. “I didn’t even mean to wake you up. As long as you’re comfortable you can stay right where you are.”

“If I’m being completely honest, this is the best I’ve slept in years,” I whispered.

Julian rubbed my arm.

“Seems like you should get back to it, then.”

“Looks like you’ve got a problem,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“I’ve gotten attached to you. When I decide I approve of someone, there’s no getting rid of me.”

“That,” he said, “seems like the opposite of a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many of my own anxieties can I pack into this self insert? A LOT OF THEM, it turns out. I did my best to replicate a little of what it feels like to be the pickiest eater in the world and what it's like to navigate that in social situations that involve food, especially food someone else has cooked. I also thought it would be fun to show a bit of how the savannah-sleeping-in-the-infirmary thing might have gotten started, or at least how she realized that this person helps her sleep.
> 
> If you also suffer from similar issues with food, I hope this has made you feel a bit more seen. I know for a fact that if someone went out of their way to rescue me when I was at an event with nothing to eat, it would be possibly the kindest thing anyone could do.


End file.
